


My name is James.

by Wildish_Gambino



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 1940s, Angst, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, How Do I Tag, M/M, Memory Loss, Modern Era, Oblivious Steve Rogers, POV Bucky Barnes, Poetry, Sorry Not Sorry, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, poetry i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-12
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2019-03-30 03:29:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13941627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wildish_Gambino/pseuds/Wildish_Gambino
Summary: It’s been a while since I’ve remembered. It’s been a while since I knew what the word could mean. I mean, it has to mean something, right?





	My name is James.

My mother named me James. I was born in the dawn of war. Ironically, my mother named me after the man who couldn’t prevent that war from happening. But that’s alright I guess. We all make mistakes. 

My name is James. And I ask you to tell me yours. You, with bloody teeth and bruised eyes. You, with broken body and balled hands. You, whose about two heads shorter than me and doesn’t seem to notice. You tell me your name as if spitting out a bullet shell. I smile because I’ve never seen someone do that before. 

My name is James but you only call me that when you’re mad. The neighbors say that we’re two peas in a pod, you and I. Joined at the hip, looking for trouble. But you were always the one that led me there. I didn’t mind. Time seemed to pass by too quickly. The summers only got hotter and the rattling in your chest only made me more worried. I remember you hated that. I grew fonder of your voice, even when it would yell at me. Your voice was smooth, it rolled off your tongue like the honey we couldn’t afford and I bet it tasted even better. That same summer, I was shipped off to fight an old mans war. I remember the sting of a slap, my name fighting from your mouth. I remember you cried. 

No one calls me James anymore. We don’t have time to call each other anything nowadays. With men disappearing left and right, names seemed trivial. You’d only forget it when the bullets came flying. Still, I replay your sugar sweet voice in my mind and lick the phantom taste off my fingers. I can barely hear the gunshots now. 

My name is James. And I hear you call it from halfway down the battlefield. I wish I could say I’m happy to see you but I’d rather your sweetness stay where it cannot be corrupted. Nonetheless, I smile when I see you. How could I not?

You call me James while amongst the soldiers. I act like it doesn’t bother me. 

You call me James when you find me tied with ribbon to the devils handbasket. Wasn’t it just like you to bring scissors? 

You call me James when my hands slip from the railing. I can barely hear it over the sound of howling winds and then I’m falling. It is the last thing I hear for a while.

My name is...James?  
I know he used to call me that. Here, they don’t call me anything.

My name is  
My name is James.  
At least I think so. It almost sounds right. It’s the only thing that floats in my head, echoes in the back part like it wants to be found but it’s too scared to come out. 

My name is.  
I’m not sure I have one, but I know they all do. The people I see at night. These ghosts seem to follow me home but after all, what are ghosts if they don’t haunt you. I’ve made a mistake. They tell me it’s alright. I’ve made a mistake. They tell me it’s good. I’ve made a mistake. We all make mistakes right? 

My name is. 

My name is. 

My name. 

My. 

You tell me my name is James. You ask if I remember. It’s been a while since I’ve remembered. It’s been a while since I knew what the word could mean. I mean, it has to mean something, right?  
I think I knew a boy that did. You know, you kind of look like him when you cry.


End file.
